


Greener Grass

by eigengrau



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Angst, Delusions, Mind Screw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 16:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eigengrau/pseuds/eigengrau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a fine line between reality and fiction, but Sam can't see it anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greener Grass

**Author's Note:**

> This is set sometime in the middle of the last episode, after Sam goes back to the present day but before he decides to jump off the roof and head back to the 70's.

"Sam? Sam?"

 

He buries his head in the pillow. "Stop. Please stop."

 

"Come back to us, Sam."

 

"Just leave me alone!"

 

The television flickers statically. The woman on the screen presses a palm to the lens, tears shining on her face. "Wake up, Sammy."

 

"You're not real. You're not real, go away!" He grabs an ashtray off the floor, filled with cold grey flakes from cigarettes long since smoked, and throws it blindly at the TV. It misses by a mile and crashes into the wall, scattering butts and dust all over the floor.

 

A man appears on the screen. "You have to wake up, Sam. You're trapped, you need to wake up."

 

"Don't tell me what to do!" Sam shudders on the bed, squeezing the sheets in his white-knuckled fists. "I know what's real!"

 

"Come home, Sam. "

 

"Stop it, stop it, shut up, SHUT UP!"

 

"You can make it stop, Sam."

 

He lets out a muffled sob. "Oh God, not you."

 

The little girl in the red dress frowns sympathetically. "I am your friend, Sam. Your only-"

 

He lets fly the closest thing at hand, a heavy book. It may or may not have hit her, but it definitely never hits the floor.

 

"Fuck you!"

 

"Don't be naughty, Sam." She strokes her clown doll petulantly. "Naughty boys don't get to go home."

 

His pillow is soaked, the fabric damp under his cheek. "I am home. It's real, it has to be. They all said-"

 

"They lied, Sammy. Everyone always lies to you. Poor little boy. It's time to stop playing pretend, little boy."

 

"I'm not a little boy." He whispers. "I'm not."

 

"But you are." She rests a tiny hand on his bare back, her palm sticky against his shoulder blade. "Inside, you are. Never grew up. Little Peter Pan boy, little Sam Tyler."

 

"Stop it."

 

"Don't you want to know what's real, Sam? Can't you tell?"

 

"Please.  _Please."_

_  
_

"Don't you want to see them again, Sam? Don't you miss them?"

 

" _Just leave me_   _alone!_ " He screams, slamming his head into the wall. He rebounds back from the force and falls off the bed, lying on the cold floor, dazed. It takes him a moment to move, to crawl up to his knees. There's a splotch of vibrant red, a few closely cropped hairs. When he looks around the room, the girl is gone. The television is tuned to static.

 

There are no voices, no sounds. Sam curls into a ball and cries until he wakes up the next morning and takes a shower to wash off the blood, changing into clean clothes.

 

His eyes are red-rimmed and dark, but who's going to notice? Certainly no one at work. He's not even there anymore, not really. Isn't sure what's real, what's a dream, what's a coma. Who's dead, who's alive. Who's there and who's missing.

 

He leaves the apartment without looking back, going out into the pale morning like a ghost. As he walks to his car, his charcoal suit blending in with the street and the rain, the TV turns on in his sitting room.

 

"Sam?" The woman blinks, static playing at her edges. "We need you. Please, come back."

 

The man stares out, his mouth a grim slash and his arm around the woman's shoulders. "Come on, Sam. You know we're here. If you'd only look, you'd see we're just as real as you are."

 

The woman sobs, and the man tightens his hold on her. "Please. You have to wake up, Sammy. You have to come back, please!" She dissolves into tears, her head falling to her chest, her face hidden by a curtain of dark hair.

 

Gene looks back out from the television one last time, then turns and walks Annie away, hand laid comfortingly on her arm. They grow smaller and smaller until they're only pixels, only dots.

 

And then the TV flickers off.


End file.
